


No Comfort in Pretense (Don't Close Your Eyes)

by secondhand_watermelon



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: College, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dream Sex, Dry Humping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Religion, Religious Guilt, Sleep, college rhink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24166516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhand_watermelon/pseuds/secondhand_watermelon
Summary: Written for the Self-Isolation Mythical Secret Santa Prompt: "Seeking each other out for comfort." Also written for a Tumblr prompt by soho-x: "College Rhink - "Please, we can pretend."Rhett is awakened by a an unknown sound from Link's side of the room. When Link breaks down after breaking a promise, how will Rhett respond?
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 49
Kudos: 148
Collections: Good Mythical Self-Isolation





	No Comfort in Pretense (Don't Close Your Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sohox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohox/gifts).



> Many thanks to soho-x of Tumblr (sohox on AO3) for her prompt that she waited so patiently for, and for brainstorming the initial ideas of this fic with me before we realized it could include her prompt as well as the SIMSS prompt. I know this is delayed by just over a week for SIMSS, but hopefully the wait will have been worth it.
> 
> A billion thank-yous to mythical-ross for beta reading and finally yanking me out of the weeklong writing block I was experiencing, and to captainsourwolf for encouragement.

Rhett blinks his way awake, his whole body feeling heavy and sleepy, a silent yawn splitting his face. _Something_ must have awoken him, but he can’t determine what: the room is dim and quiet, with a soft fan whirring in the corner to provide him with necessary white noise and a little light leaking in around the corners of the blinds and underneath the dorm room door. His clock tells him it’s three a.m., and it seems unlikely that something in the hallway would have disturbed him this late - or early - on a Tuesday. So what…?

A soft sound catches his ear and he props himself up on his elbow, peering through the darkness toward Link’s bed. It’s across the room, as narrow and too-short as his own, and he can just make out the lump of Link’s curled-up body beneath his thick comforter and the messy nest of his dark hair on the pillow. Link’s always cold, and his layers of bedding cater to that fact; Rhett himself is currently lying on top of his quilt and feeling a bit warm. Link’s not moving, but where else could the sound have come from? What _is_ it?

There’s nothing else for a few minutes, and Rhett finds himself grumpily contemplating just rolling over and going back to sleep. He can’t do anything else; if he wakes Link up, there’ll be hell to pay, so he dare not turn on a light to read or try to cross the room to sneak out and play video games in the common area.

Heck, he can’t even take a little alone time - even if he wanted to risk doing so with Link _right there_ \- because as part of their accountability pledge three weeks prior during their men’s Bible study group, he and Link agreed to avoid all “sins of the flesh,” as their study leader described it. Neither of them had girlfriends at the moment, and they wouldn’t be messing around with them like _that_ if they were. But Pastor John had some things to say about masturbation and its role in encouraging sinful thoughts and desires, and Link wouldn’t drop the idea of pledging themselves to abstinence until Rhett agreed to take the pledge with him, along with the rest of their study group.

Personally, Rhett isn’t entirely convinced that self-pleasure is the biggest concern they (or anyone else) should have regarding purity, but he’s known Link for long enough to understand that he’s determined to figure out The Rules and follow them to a tee - and that he will pester Rhett about something like this until he at least reluctantly agrees to comply. Right now, for some reason, Rhett’s seriously regretting that agreement. Just thinking about not getting off is making him squirm a little.

The sound echoes from Link’s bed again, and Rhett curls up on his side to face that half of the room. His heart begins to pound as it’s immediately followed by another, louder sound that Rhett can absolutely make out now. Link is _moaning_ , his body slowly uncoiling as he rolls over onto his back with fitful movements. Rhett stares at him and feels his mouth go dry.

Another time, he might try to convince himself that Link was having a nightmare, might even hiss his name across the room and try to wake him up. But he can see, even through the soft folds of the comforter, that Link is - well. Part of him is very much _awake_ , and Rhett fights back the sudden, insane urge to slip out of his own bed, creep closer on his knees, and see exactly what’s happening beneath Link’s covers. He wraps his arms around his own torso, swallows hard, and watches in silence instead.

“Oh,” Link whimpers, and Rhett’s head spins. Link’s shoving restlessly at his covers, squirming on his sheets, and filling the room with the sound of soft, panting breaths that are slowly getting louder and faster. Rhett’s struck with a wave of guilt: he should wake Link up. Even if they’ll both be horribly embarrassed, both now and in the morning, he feels like he can’t in good conscience leave his best friend in this state and just...watch him. He would hate it if Link did that to him, almost certainly. But - 

“Fuck,” Link breathes out, his tone hungry and entirely earnest, and Rhett’s hand unconsciously falls to his own groin. He’s palming his half-hard cock before he even notices, abruptly yanking his hand away as if he’s been burned when the realization hits him. _Can’t. The damn pledge_ , he thinks to himself, and besides, it’s Link. This can’t be about Link; he’s just confused. It’s been _weeks_ since he got to handle himself _._

Link’s kicked away his comforter now, and Rhett finds himself still watching breathlessly as his hips rock up against the empty air, every thrust into nothing making Link moan and whimper softly. An occasional word slips out, usually too mumbled for Rhett to make out, and Rhett can’t deny any longer that he’s pretty turned on right now too, despite how incredibly ashamed it makes him feel. A flush has crept down the back of his neck and heated his cheeks and chest, and he clings to himself in a weird hug around his own torso to avoid doing anything stupid, like touching himself again ( _like waking Link, like not waking Link_ ). Any minute now, Link will stop dreaming. He’ll wake himself up enough to stop, or slip into a different phase of his sleep cycle, or _something_. Any minute now. Any - 

Suddenly, Link’s back arches and he groans loudly, too loudly into the hush of the room. He’s still wearing the too-small red tee shirt and white briefs he’d worn to bed, so nothing is exposed to the open air, but Rhett doesn’t have to see all of Link’s body to know _exactly_ what’s happening. One of Link’s hands has worked itself down the front of his briefs and is tugging in an all-too-familiar rhythm as he continues to buck up into his own touch. In a matter of seconds, Link whines and arches one last time and - finishes, moaning and whimpering, for what feels like hours.

When his friend’s body finally collapses limply onto the mattress, Rhett realizes he’s holding his breath.

There’s some new shuffling sounds coming from Link’s bed now, and Rhett quickly slams his eyes shut to avoid being caught. Surely something like that would be enough to wake anyone up, and Rhett figures he’s right when he can hear familiar squeaks from Link’s bed as he moves around more purposefully. He peeks through one slitted eyelid and observes Link grabbing his shorts from the previous day where they’re piled up beside his bed and scrubbing at himself under his briefs before tucking them back under the heap of the rest of his clothes. He watches Link yank his comforter back over his body and curl back up, facing the wall, away from Rhett. He practices letting out his breath slowly, drawing it back in slowly, trying not to gasp or pant or anything that might reveal to Link that he’s awake.

And then, another sound.

Rhett inhales sharply, more audibly than he intended. _Link’s crying_.

His heart constricts, and for a second, the strange eroticism of the voyeuristic moment he just experienced slips from Rhett’s attention, replaced by a flood of memories. There is a thing they do, something they’ve never discussed or mentioned to anyone else: when one of them breaks down into tears, they come together and hold each other for comfort. It’s happened at sleepovers, during late night chats, and even occasionally in the middle of the day, when they were alone deep in the woods or hidden around a bend of the Cape Fear. Always, it happens only when it is just the two of them and they feel safe. It’s only happened once since they went off to college, since they became men or something like it, but the sound of Link’s tears always tugs at Rhett’s heart and urges him to respond in the same familiar, comforting way.

And yes, a few times it was him in tears, sure. He can admit it, mostly alone in the darkness. Usually, it’s Link, but sometimes it’s been him. The day after his father whupped him for something Cole had done and refused to believe his protestations. The time he failed to score in the final seconds of a major game that they proceeded to lose, and his coach and teammates gave him the cold shoulder for days. When his girlfriend broke up with him freshman year. Link was there every time, and did for him what he always did for Link: held him close and let him cry without judgment. And now Link is crying, his body heaving under his fluffy covers, and Rhett can’t stand it.

“You awake, buddyroll?” he whispers, and Link goes silent. Rhett can still see the way he’s shaking, trying to hold in his sobs.

“Y-Yeah,” Link stammers back after a moment, and Rhett sucks in a breath.

“You okay?”

A pause, then: “No,” Link gasps out.

Rhett wriggles until he can get his quilt out from underneath his body, all bunched and wrinkled and warm with body heat, and he lifts it up like a tent over his body. “Wanna come over? Just until you feel better?”

He can see that Link hasn’t turned to face him; he hasn’t moved at all aside from the trembling he can’t seem to suppress. For the first time _ever_ , Link shakes his head, just enough that Rhett can make it out in their twilit room. “No.”

Rhett’s eyes widen and his heart thumps hard in his chest. _No?_ This is - this is what they do. This is what they’ve always done. There can’t be _no_. Neither of them is ever left to suffer alone.

He clambers out of his bed and pads across the floor toward Link, tugging down his too-big white tee shirt with the stretched-out vee neck that he always sleeps in, trying to hide the way his still-half-aroused cock is distending the thin cotton of his green plaid boxer shorts. It’s stupid, but he can’t help it; bodies are stupid, sometimes, and he’s sure his will get the message any minute. He tugs at Link’s comforter with his other hand until Link releases his death grip on it reluctantly, and slips underneath it, feeling Link shift to the side of the bed closest to the wall as Rhett wiggles his way across the sheets and lets the covers drop over them. It’s too warm in Link’s blanket cocoon, but there’s no way Rhett’s leaving, not when he can still hear the snuffle of Link’s shuddering breaths.

They lie there, side by side, for what feels like ages. Rhett pillows the back of his head in his interlaced hands, sprawled out on his back, while Link has rolled over and is curled up next to him, shadowed by the comforter pulled up nearly over his head. They’re not touching, but Rhett has a lifetime of moments stored in his memory that tell him how this is likely to go. He just hopes Link doesn’t entwine their limbs or wrap himself around Rhett entirely, as he has occasionally done, and discover that weeks of self-denial and a forbidden moment in the darkness have left Rhett unable to completely shake his physical arousal. It’s an uncomfortable paradox: his heart is entirely absorbed with Link’s shaky breath and hitching sobs, while his body remains fixated on the sight and sound of his best friend dreaming and touching himself - and his brain is torn between the two. So, he waits.

Finally, Link pushes closer, his head coming to rest on Rhett’s chest and his shock of dark, soft hair nuzzling against Rhett’s throat. One slim brown arm flops heavily over Rhett’s torso, lightly punching some air out of him thanks to the abrupt weight on his belly, and Rhett can feel a slight dampness against his skin and the humid huff of Link’s sniffling breaths against his nipple, even through the thin layer of his tee shirt. His nipple tightens at the sensation, and his body responds to the confusing stimulation via a throb between his thighs. He sighs and drops an arm around Link’s back, his palm settling at the small of it where he can feel the juts and knobs of Link’s spine and pelvis and the warmth of his soft skin dotted with goosebumps. Link always seems to have goosebumps.

“Why are you crying?” Rhett dares to ask, as softly as he can. Link’s fingers dig into his ribs on the far side of his body and he begins to sob quietly again, shaking in Rhett’s loose embrace. Rhett sighs, more from the twinge he always feels in his chest when this happens than any sort of irritation at Link’s emotional fragility. He tightens his hug, pulling Link closer tentatively, and Link shuffles in, letting himself be enveloped.

“Come on, you can tell me,” he murmurs, willing Link to say something, anything, so he can figure out exactly what’s happened since Link woke him up with sex sounds half an hour ago. Link exhales heavily and Rhett can’t hold back a shiver at the sensation on his skin where the vee dips too low.

“I had a dream,” Link whispers. Rhett feels everything in his body tense for a moment, and he forces himself to relax.

“A nightmare?” he responds, feigning ignorance, hoping maybe Link will be too embarrassed to confess. Hoping Link will tell him _everything_.

Link squirms a little against his side, clearly uncomfortable, and Rhett sucks in a breath, immediately regretting it. His mouth and nose are filled with the scent of _Link_ , something so warm and utterly familiar that his cross-wired brain, rather than calming down and deciding _Link is my friend, and also upset_ means _now is not the time_ , instead sends a pulse of heat and unshakable arousal from Rhett’s flushing cheeks all the way to his toes, resulting in a particularly unmissable throb from his errant dick. Link smells like warm skin and citrus shampoo and fresh-scented deodorant, like Rhett’s best friend, and _oh_ , like sex. He smells like sex, and Rhett bites his own lip, hard, as his mouth waters at the scent. He needs to chill out, like _now_.

“No,” Link admits, barely audible. He’s shifted so his face is buried in Rhett’s neck, and Rhett can feel Link’s lips moving against his skin when he speaks, breathes, sobs. "No, it was...you know."

"Not really," Rhett lies, trying not to breathe in _Link_ , hoping desperately that Link doesn’t shift any closer, doesn’t let his arm slide down to Rhett’s waist or drape a thigh over his in an effort to cuddle closer or - “What was it?”

There’s a long pause, and Rhett swears Link must be able to feel the racing thrum of Rhett’s pulse against his mouth. He presses his hand to Link’s back a little more firmly, rubbing, encouraging.

"A, a sexy dream," Link whispers finally, and his breath on Rhett's throat is going to make him crazy. "And I - " He shifts again, his tummy warm against Rhett’s side, and Rhett lets his fingers push up Link’s red tee shirt, lets the pads of his fingers seek out bare, heated skin.

"What'd you do, brother?" His voice has dropped low, become hoarse, but he thinks maybe Link won’t notice, too busy with his own misery to clock Rhett’s condition that’s growing more uncomfortably ridiculous by the moment. “Tell me.”

"I couldn't help it!" Link suddenly wails, rearing up a bit with the force of his emotion, and Rhett pulls him impossibly closer, hushing him. "I was gonna, and I wanted to - I had to touch it. I had to, Rhett." He’s babbling, and Rhett realizes with a jolt that tightens everything in his belly: Link had been awake and consciously touching himself when he came.

He had woken up at the last moment, shoved his hand in his underwear, and - 

_Oh._

"Shh, it's okay, it's fine," Rhett tells him, suddenly realizing what had somehow not quite sunk in due to his sleep-bleary, college-boy-horny state. _Link’s crying because he broke the pledge_.

He holds his friend, the way he has a hundred times before. He’s never felt quite like _this_ before, but it's because he's been trying to be good, too, he tells himself. It's just sounds and body heat and sleepiness. He's confused, it's not -

"What'd you dream about?" he asks, too curious to hold it in. Link snuffles into his neck. "Maybe if you get it out of your system, it won't happen again." He can hardly believe he’s saying this, but the churning in his belly tells him he won’t be able to let it go until he knows, until he’s figured out what’s so hot inside Link’s mind that he has to chase an orgasm even in his sleep, even when it means breaking a promise, to Rhett and Pastor John and the study group and God and - 

Link starts crying again, clutching at him, and Rhett's so lost; he's achingly hard, his friend is sobbing, and fuck, if Link moves his thigh just a few more inches...

"It's okay," he soothes, pushing it all away, daring to kiss Link's hair so lightly the other boy probably won't even feel it. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me."

Link’s arm slip-slides on the worn-soft cotton of Rhett’s oversized tee until it settles, warm and damning, against the waistband of Rhett’s boxers. The white tee rides up with his movements and Rhett can feel the faintest tickle of Link’s arm hair against the skin of his belly and the way Link’s hand curls perfectly around his hip bone like it’s made to rest there. Rhett’s so warm that he wants to untangle himself from Link, pull off his shirt and maybe Link’s too, and just lie together the way they did on the bank of the Cape Fear one late summer afternoon when Link cried himself ill over the news that Rhett’s parents refused to pay for film school. Rhett cried too that day, silently dripping tears into Link’s buzzed-short hair. But that moment feels so far away and foreign compared to this, where he craves Link’s skin instead of enduring it, where he’s burning up from the closeness and the _want_ of it instead of the North Carolina sun.

“I broke the pledge,” Link laments, his fingers moving restlessly on Rhett’s hip. One finger finds the waistband of Rhett’s boxers and toys with it, slipping underneath. Rhett gasps softly, knowing it’s just Link’s anxious fidgeting but _oh gosh_ he’s going to lose his mind in a moment. “I’m gonna have to confess to everyone, be accountable, and I don’t wanna, Rhett. It’s humiliating.” Fresh tears leak down the length of Rhett’s throat, and he scrabbles for Link’s skin, shoving up the tiny red tee further and stroking the topography of Link’s spine.

“You don’t have to tell anyone,” Rhett reassures him gently, then, unable to stop himself: “You can just tell me. Be accountable to me. I won’t judge you, promise.”

“I couldn’t control myself,” Link whimpers, and he pushes away a bit, his chin jabbing into Rhett’s shoulder as he props himself up to look into Rhett’s face. Even in the shadows, from this close Rhett can make out the streaks of tears down his cheeks, the way the light hits his eyes and highlights the sheen of shame. “I’d been thinking about it for days, Rhett. _Days_. Wanted to, so bad. Why am I so bad at this? Why can’t I be strong like you?” His face drops back into Rhett’s chest as his fingers continue to restlessly toy with the waistband to Rhett’s boxers, tugging and twisting at it and shifting closer to Rhett’s belly, to the trail of soft dark blonde hair leading to something entirely damning. Rhett grits his teeth and tries to tense his muscles even while soothing Link, feeling himself begin to tremble slightly at the strain.

“You’re just human,” he offers, hearing how rough his own voice has become, throaty where Link’s is high and soft and choked with tears. “You did your best. I know that. I know.”

“You’re so much better at this than me,” Link murmurs, wiping his eyes and cheeks against Rhett’s cotton-clad shoulder before nestling back into the space between Rhett’s neck and collarbone. “Sometimes I wanna give up, Rhett. I want to be good, like you, and strong, and - ”

Rhett feels it before he can stop it: the way the heat in his chest and gut unfurl, race through his veins to his fingers and toes and mouth before he can suck in another breath. He’s overheated and tense and so, so hard, and he can’t bear to hear Link praise him another second. He snaps **.**

Shaking, he grabs Link's hand where it’s still plucking at his waistband and drags it down the most incriminating expanse of space between them, pressing it hard to the ridge of his aching cock where it strains against his boxers. He hears Link exhale, so hard he can feel the breath stirring the loose folds of his tee shirt, and squeezes his eyes shut tightly against the feelings of fear and desire warring in his gut.

"I'm not that strong, Link,” Rhett groans, letting go of Link’s hand to dig his nails into the sheets, trying not to move up into the warm weight of Link’s fingers. He’s not going to hold Link there - he’s not even sure he should have helped Link discover the truth in the first place. He’s actively shaking now, chills running down his spine from guilt and shame and fear and aching, searing arousal.

“I'm not perfect either,” he adds, the words tripping out, stammery and breathless. He’s unsure if he’s still trying to comfort Link, or if all this is happening because he’s just so desperate to be touched. “It's okay."

Link’s hand hasn’t moved, the palm resting along the length of Rhett’s erection, fingertips brushing the head of it but perfectly still. Rhett shoves his head back into the plush give of Link’s pillows, arching just his upper back, wanting to move something and refusing to let it be his hips. He can feel the flushed heat staining his face, his chest, his throat, and the corded tendons standing out in his own neck as he strains against the paradox - the need to be still and the overwhelming _need_. The moment feels tense, frozen, endless.

Suddenly Link gasps and sniffles, his nose rubbing against Rhett’s thudding pulse, and his fingers twitch against Rhett’s cock. Rhett clutches at the sheets with his right hand and at Link’s tee shirt with his left, dragging it fitfully up Link’s torso, barely even realizing what he’s doing. Link lifts his hand slightly and resettles it, again and again, and Rhett realizes hazily that Link is palming him, feeling the length and breadth of him, starting so cautiously to roam and rub.

"Oh my gosh, Rhett,” Link whispers, his mouth having shifted to waft sleep-warm breath against the shell of Rhett’s ear with every sentence. “Why are you - "

"I heard you," Rhett gasps out, groaning, squirming as Link touches him shyly. "I heard you, Link, I heard when you - "

“Oh,” Link responds, so softly, as his fingers become a little more daring. Rhett wants to grab his wrist, push up into his cautious grip, cram Link’s questing fingers under his boxers and urge the other boy to get him off the way he had himself, fast and urgent, because Rhett too feels like he’s on the brink, the brink of _something_ , and he’s too hazy and needy to decide exactly what.

"This is how you touched me in my dream," Link blurts out, confessing. His voice is still blurry and hushed as he finally fits his hand firmly around Rhett's cock and starts really stroking, rubbing, his thumb suddenly brushing against the wet head of it when it slips out through the slit in Rhett’s underwear.

Rhett can’t hold back the harsh groan that rips from his throat at the combination of Link’s confession and the first feel of his skin against any part of Rhett’s pulsing cock. _Link was dreaming about_ him? He dares to shove his fingers under the elastic of Link’s little briefs, unable to resist the urge to ghost his fingers over the hills and valley of Link’s bottom.

They’re taking an unknown path together, one that’s hovered at the periphery of Rhett’s urges for as long as he can remember, one he always chalked up to the constancy of their friendship - just _Link, everywhere_ \- and found easy to dismiss because of how devoted he always felt to girls and their soft skin and silky hair and pretty, wet mouths. But Link’s skin is soft and his hair is smooth as silk against Rhett’s cheek, and Rhett is trying so hard now not to think about the wet gorgeousness of Link’s mouth and everywhere he could put it. Shame and lust war deep in his bones, and he can’t decide what’s going to win out - except the battle’s already been lost. Maybe it was lost years ago.

“Tell me,” he pants, slipping a finger into the very top of the crevice of Link’s ass, feeling hot and tight in his skin as Link fondles him and noses at his collarbone. “Keep talking, it’s okay.”

“I really liked it when you...” Link starts, trailing off and pressing his thumb against Rhett's leaking slit. “When you did this. In my dream.” He swirls his thumb in the wet, teasing more out with gentle, circling rubs.

Rhett is so aroused that Link’s thumb slip-slides all over the curves and ridges of his cockhead, and Rhett isn’t exactly sure how he hasn’t exploded already.

“You’re really wet, Rhett,” Link adds, his voice full of awe. He brings his glistening thumb up and sucks it into his mouth, and Rhett whimpers and claws at Link’s ass like he can drag Link up his body and _inside him_ , somehow, entwining them so completely that they can never come undone. He bucks helplessly up into Link’s still-moving hand, his head thrashing restlessly on the pillow.

"Link, Link, Link," he groans, dragging his hand up Link’s body and holding the other boy by the back of the neck, desperate to keep Link’s face buried against his own throat. He can’t bear for Link to look at him right now, so on edge just from a clandestine view of Link’s climax and clumsy rubbing through his clothes. It’s Link, so it’s perfect, and why didn’t he know that would be true before tonight?

Why does he suspect that when the morning light hits, there’s a good chance they will be unable to meet each other’s eyes?

The thought makes Rhett’s lungs constrict and his heart lurch painfully, and he brings up the hand that had nearly torn through Link’s sheets to cover Link’s hand on his dick. “Stop, we should stop,” he gasps out, and Link props himself up again, staring down too-close into Rhett’s burning face.

“Don’t wanna,” Link whispers, managing petulance with half-lidded eyes and a too-soft bottom lip, and Rhett’s beside himself with how much he _doesn’t_ want to stop. Even the fear of consequences - guilt, confession, hell (or worse, the loss of the best friend he’s ever had) - is too easily subsumed when Link’s eyes meet his, bright with arousal and affection.

“I won’t touch you, maybe,” Link adds, so softly. “We can do it like my dream.” His face is fearful, hopeful. Beloved.

Rhett gives in, again. It’s too easy to surrender, too hard to resist.

“Show me, then,” he says gruffly. Link whines as Rhett continues to push his hand away, and in response Rhett presses another kiss to his hair, more firmly, determined for him to feel it. “How were we lying?”

Link sighs softly, dreamily, at Rhett’s kiss and acquiescence. “C’mere,” he murmurs, curling away from Rhett to face the wall and dragging Rhett’s arm with him, draping it over his body until Rhett is forced to turn onto his side too, curled around Link with his chin in the smaller boy’s hair and knees nudged up behind his. Link keeps tugging, though, and Rhett shifts and adjusts his body until Link makes a happy sound, until Rhett’s hips and raging erection are tightly pressed just above the curve of Link’s ass. Rhett can’t stop himself from wriggling a hand between them and tugging his cock out fully, shoving his boxers down to mid-thigh and breathing a sigh of relief into Link’s hair. Link, in turn, moans softly at the feel of Rhett’s slick, heated cock rubbing up against the small of his back.

Rhett lets Link tug his hand lower, down the flat plane of his belly, until his palm is covering Link’s cock. And oh, it’s just as hard as Rhett’s despite his frantic climax upon waking; Rhett can feel the wetness staining the white fabric, almost certainly a combination of previous pleasure and current need. He sighs and rubs Link, almost greedy to feel out the length of him, the slim pretty curve of it arching for Link’s stomach even through its confines. He can’t resist rutting his own cock against Link as he touches him, groaning softly at how good it feels just to move. Link tucks a thumb under his own waistband and wiggles his briefs down until Rhett can feel the plush softness of Link’s bottom against his balls and thighs, and Link’s dick pops out and settles beautifully into the grasping clutch of Rhett’s fingers. They both groan this time, harmonizing a bit even in pleasure; both of them moving forward into skin, into grip, into each other.

“It was just like this,” Link tells him, voice shaking, as Rhett gives in and holds Link tight against his chest. “This can be a dream too, Rhett. I promise. Just a dream.”

Rhett closes his eyes and breathes in Link’s scent, panting and listening to Link moan and mutter, “It’s just a dream, Rhett, it can be just a dream,” over and over as he pushes into Rhett’s fist. He’s working himself back and forth in Rhett’s arms, fighting to take his own pleasure even as Rhett grinds into him. Rhett’s hips slip lower and lower until he’s nosing the nape of Link’s neck, just beneath the shag of his hair, and his cock is tucked perfectly into the crevice of Link’s ass.

“That what this is?” he forces himself to ask, interrupting Link’s litany, letting himself bite a bit at the impossibly soft skin just below Link’s hairline, right where his scent is strongest on the back of his neck. Link whines and pushes back hard, writhing in Rhett’s tightening embrace.

“Please?” Link pleads, his voice so small and helpless that Rhett wants to roar with the desire to claim him, protect him, do _something_ that he cannot even name because _Link_ , _Link._ “Please, Rhett. Please, we can pretend. It’s just a dream.”

_No no no no no._

“Yeah,” Rhett growls into his skin, breath punched out of him with contrasting waves of grief and desperation. “Just a dream, brother. It’s okay.”

It seems this is the last permission Link needs. He relaxes into Rhett’s body, deliciously pliant, no longer scrambling for touches or pleasure but entirely trusting. Rhett digs his teeth into Link’s nape again to keep the tears prickling inside his face from escaping, holding the slim, precious body of his best friend close and finding his rhythm. He strokes and tugs at Link’s startlingly hard cock, trying his best to imitate what feels good on himself, and gives in to the animalistic urge to just _use_ Link, lovingly and urgently and the way his body is demanding. He holds Link to him and just humps his small, plush ass, riding the split of it, so close, so close.

“I think this is a sin of the flesh,” spills from Link’s mouth suddenly, small and soft, and Rhett freezes.

The moment feels surreal. He’s flushed hot and shivering cold and seconds from shooting all over Link’s back, and they’re both still in their tee shirts - white and red, stretched out and too small - and he’s holding Link’s dick in his big, sweaty hand. He stares into the darkness, panting, and feels as though he’s falling from an impossible height. Terrified.

“Yeah,” he gasps out, choking on it, and that’s when he realizes he’s now the one crying: great, gulping sobs that are suddenly wracking his body as he rolls away, untangles himself from Link and sprawls out onto his back and shudders.

Link is there, of course he is, and Rhett doesn’t stop the other boy from climbing atop him in a way they haven’t done since they were very small, since everything was innocent and fun and Link used to start every wrestling match by clambering aboard Rhett like a giant stuffed toy and flailing until Rhett pummeled him. Link doesn’t flail this time. He straddles Rhett’s hips carefully, being gentle around Rhett’s cock - and _how is he still half-hard?_ \- and lays down along the length of him, lacing their fingers together at Rhett’s sides and tucking his face into that magic space between Rhett’s neck and shoulder that now feels like _Link’s face place_. Rhett sobs harder at the thought.

“I’m sorry,” Link mumbles into his ear, and Rhett can feel that Link’s face is a little wet again, too, and that he too is still somewhat aroused against Rhett’s belly. It’s confusing and horrible that he can’t stop crying and he also wants to cup Link’s perfect little bottom in his palms and move against him. Rhett cries for it, for the confusion and the shame and longing, and feels his nose stopper up as he gasps for nasally breaths. Link clutches him close and continues: “I’m sorry, Rhett. I didn’t mean to say that. I wanted to pretend.”

“We can’t pretend,” Rhett moans, his voice rising with grief to a near-wail, and Link shushes him, squeezing their interwoven hands and pressing tiny soft warm kisses to Rhett’s skin in a way that feels nearly as forbidden as their arousal. Rhett pulls his hands free and Link whimpers into his throat, but Rhett simply wraps every bit of his long arms around Link’s body and holds him, letting himself bawl, letting Link cry a little into his shoulder again. He rubs Link’s back with great, sweeping strokes as they cry, and Link dances his fingers along Rhett’s arms the way he used to when they were kids, in that _Link_ way that should tickle but always makes Rhett feel shivery and calm at the same time.

When he can finally stem the flow of tears, and he’s sniffed repeatedly and wiped at his eyes enough to feel slightly sane, Rhett tugs Link’s face out of the curve of his shoulder. They will never be able to lie toe to toe and eye to eye, but Rhett can still feel every inch of him, warm and slim and and strong, stretched out along his body. He’s felt it before, a hundred times, but never quite like this. And this is all he wants, now.

“We can’t pretend,” he tells Link again, chest clenching at the way Link’s face falls, at the sparkle of tears on his dark lashes just visible in the streetlight seeping through the blinds. “This isn’t a dream, Link. But maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

“But the group - ”

“Isn’t gonna know,” Rhett says firmly, deciding in the moment, and Link bites his lip at the determined words. “Maybe it’s not being accountable, to the group or Pastor John or whoever, but I don’t feel accountable to them. I feel accountable to _you_ , and to my own self.”

“But you cried, Rhett,” Link says softly, and Rhett knows. He knows that Link is frightened of it, the rarity of it, the way Rhett’s big, brave body broke apart and shook beneath him. He runs his fingers through Link’s hair, lets his fingertips stroke the softest spot on his nape. Link’s eyes fall shut and he shivers.

“This is our story,” Rhett says, forcing his voice to be strong and pushing away the surge of nagging doubt. “Yours and mine, Link, always has been. I ain’t telling it to anyone else just because they think they have a right to it. We decide, you and me, together.”

“Rhett,” Link murmurs, touching the still-wet tracks on Rhett’s face until they disappear into the sparse facial hair lining his jaw. Rhett reaches up and catches at his wrist, daring to press a kiss to the tear-damp tips of Link’s fingers and watching his eyes widen and mouth go soft.

“I cried. So did you,” he admits. “I figure we had to cry, to get it out of the way.”

“Out of the way of what?” Link is looking down at him reverently - like he is magic, impossible - and Rhett warms to the gaze. He’s only ever seen it from above, towering over his friend. But like this, lying sprawled out beneath Link, it makes him feel impossibly cherished. Admired. Loved.

“Of everything else,” Rhett says, and kisses him.

The kiss is soft and chaste, like first kisses often are, despite the way their bodies are layered in Link’s bed and the half-undressed state of them. Link is the first to deepen it, a shy tongue grazing Rhett’s lower lip until his mouth opens and he can taste Link properly. His mouth is flavored with a hint of mint and still sleep-warm, a bit muzzy from crying. Rhett lets his fingers find the hem of Link’s shirt again as they kiss, tugging it up his body until Link draws back to let it slide up and off, whimpering and seeking out Rhett’s mouth again immediately as soon as he’s free of it.

Link works his own cool hands up Rhett’s belly and ribs, grazing his nipples as he shoves folds of white fabric up to Rhett’s armpits and making Rhett moan around Link’s questing tongue. Eventually they’re both entirely bare, and Rhett kicks Link’s covers down to the foot of the bed, unwilling to hide any aspect of their decision in this moment, even from each other. Even from themselves.

“Should we - ?” Link pants against his lips, minutes later, when they are both completely aroused again and Link has been squirming, eagerly rubbing his aching cock into Rhett’s belly and his ass against Rhett’s own erection. He starts to slide off Rhett’s body, clearly intending to curl up on his side again and resume their earlier positions. Rhett digs his fingers into Link’s narrow hips, holding the other boy against him and rumbling out a groan as his cock slips back into the cleft of Link’s ass as Link resettles against him.

“Right here, like this,” Rhett insists, and Link moans in response. “We’re not gonna pretend. This isn’t a dream. Stay like this. Let me look at you.”

They move together, wriggling and repositioning until Rhett discovers the magic of Link half-kneeling between his spread thighs so Rhett can grasp both of their dripping cocks together and stroke. Link shivers above him, cock like warm steel and silk against Rhett’s, and he appears completely lost to the sensation, eyes screwed shut as he rocks his hips forward eagerly. Rhett forces himself to keep his eyes open, to watch Link fall apart, to remind himself that this is a choice, this is reality - this is them.

_This isn’t a dream._

“This is so much better than my dream,” Link moans, and Rhett gasps and shoves up into his fist, thrusting against Link frantically. He’s coming, suddenly and so, so hard; spilling over his fingers, over the head of Link’s cock, and showering his own belly with slick pearlescent droplets as he grunts and pants out his pleasure. Link’s eyes fly open to take in the sight just as Rhett slams his shut, moaning and jerking and gasping Link’s name like a mantra. He can’t ever remember coming like this, not ever.

Eventually he has to release their cocks, his own hypersensitive and aching, and Link whines, collapsing forward onto Rhett and rubbing into his flat belly. He works his slender arms under Rhett’s back, slick with sweat, and grips him around the middle tightly. The mix of Rhett’s cum and his own leaking arousal makes it easy for Link to rut against Rhett’s stomach, whimpering at the juxtaposed textures of hot, smooth skin and the rough hair trailing down from Rhett’s navel. It only takes a half dozen thrusts or so before Link is gasping and crying out with his own climax, and Rhett presses shaking fingers into Link’s hips to guide him as he comes, tugging Link up and down against his own body and releasing him only when Link crumples completely, going practically boneless on top of him and huffing hot, damp breaths into his chest.

Rhett lets him catch his breath and allows his own breathing to slow before tugging Link up to crush their mouths together, seeking comfort from his friend more than anything else. It’s only their second kiss, but Rhett can feel that he’s already becoming addicted to the way Link tastes and to the movement of Link’s soft, full lips against his mouth. Link’s still trembling a bit against him, and Rhett isn’t sure if it’s from chill or pleasure or fear, but he holds Link as close as he can regardless, noticing absently that his own arms are trembling a bit too, and his pulse is fluttering in his throat like hummingbird wings.

“I’m still scared, Rhett,” Link murmurs softly when they separate for breath, still exchanging tiny pecking kisses between them like they can’t bear to part for too long. Rhett rubs a big hand down his spine, humming softly.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, planting another kiss in Link’s sweaty hair, inhaling the scent of him - overlaid now with the smell of sex - and feeling his head buzz pleasantly. “Yeah, me too, bo. But I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, wherever this leads, it’s you and me.” He feels his voice crack on the last word, and clears his throat softly, swallowing hard. “Right?”

Link pushes up sleepily, catching at Rhett’s arm until he unwinds it from around Link’s body. It’s his right arm, and Link trails his fingers along it until he reaches the palm, pressing his fingertip lightly at the center of it. The blood oath cuts never healed into particularly noticeable scars, but Rhett can feel it like a brand, seared into him again by the touch of Link’s finger. He plays with Link’s hand before seeking out the other, Link’s right, to find the matching scar. Link’s breath hitches when Rhett caresses it at the center of his palm.

“You and me,” Link repeats, an old promise crafted new just for this moment. “No matter what.”

Slowly, sweetly, Rhett rolls his best friend onto his back, hovering over him, stretched out over the length of his smaller body. He catches at Link’s right hand with his own, lining up the scars from a handshake and a promise, and slowly pins their hands above Link’s head with as much tenderness as he’s able to manage. Link gazes up at him with a look so full of affection and innocence and intense desire that it makes Rhett’s heart clench and his belly heat. He lowers his mouth to Link’s once more, resuming a kiss that feels like it could last the rest of their lives.

Eventually they shift, curling up on their left sides once more. Rhett tucks himself up behind Link and places their right hands, still clasped together, over Link’s heart. Pressing final sleepy kisses to that magical spot on Link’s nape and hearing his soft pleased grumbles in response, Rhett feels like his heart is so full that it could burst.

“No matter what,” he whispers one last time into Link’s ear, squeezing his hand tight before he slips off into slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr at secondhand-watermelon.


End file.
